


red and yellow and blue

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Amusement Parks, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-30 01:56:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15086519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: Taylor says, “So, you and Brinksy?”Dylan chokes on his funnel cake.(Or: the downs and ups of friendship and Ferris wheels.)





	red and yellow and blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [preciousthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/preciousthings/gifts).



> disclaimer: this is a work of fiction, and any information used herein is based on public information about public figures. the rest is 100% made up. 
> 
> thanks to the people who read this and cheered it along <3 it always takes a village (a and a and h for reading this, r for sprinting with me til this was done, r for working her magic on it). thanks to the polyhockey mods for running this exchange!!! 
> 
> preciousthings: your dear author letter was truly a gem and i cannot emphasize enough how excited i was to get you for this exchange. i messed around with a bunch of ideas before settling on this one! i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

 

Dylan doesn’t want to be dramatic about this, but honestly? His life fucking  _ sucks. _

Like, okay, he has a job, sure, and he’s not getting fired any time soon, and his coworkers are his buddies, and he knows that, when this job ends, he’ll have a decent amount of cash and a nice chip on his shoulder about not having a cushy internship, but he’s got to earn that chip on his shoulder by doing, like, actual minimum wage work. 

So, in summary: every day, Dylan wakes up at 9 AM, drives to the outskirts of the city, and spends his day operating the fucking Ferris wheel. 

Theoretically, there are worse things—Maksi’s working concessions, which is infinitely worse than ride op-ing—but still, working the Ferris wheel is, like, mind-numbingly boring. 

First off, there are no outlets, which Dylan thinks shouldn’t be legal at a job that has so much sitting around doing nothing. He’d had to spend his first paycheck on a battery pack for his old-as-shit phone just so he could make it through the summer without quitting, or gouging his eyes out from boredom, or something. Plus, it’s fucking hot, and Dylan does not tan, he burns. This means that he’s applying sunscreen liberally at every opportunity he gets, and there are weird stains on his horrendous Funland polo, but he honestly couldn’t give less of a shit about that if he tried. It’s probably the worst shirt he’s ever seen in his entire life, and it’s therefore impossible to make it any uglier. 

Also… crowd control, and the general grossness of amusement parks that got him to give in and let Connor buy him one of those dumb Bath and Body Works hand sanitizer holsters, and people yelling at him for lines being too long or rides being broken or things being too expensive or a ton of other shit that Dylan has absolutely no control over. 

Applying to this place had technically been a group idea, but in Dylan’s mind, it’s an idea that started with Taylor, got support from Alex, then dragged Dylan along for the ride. Pun intended. 

Taylor is a supervisor, because his brother had been one last year, and because apparently no one who is in charge of hiring here gives a shit about what your work experience is, so it wasn’t hard for him to get them hired and stationed near each other, and he’d promised it’d be fun, and it kind of is, except— 

Well, like, his job is probably the employment equivalent of being gum on the bottom of someone’s shoe. If there was a Glassdoor for desperate college students wanting to minimize the demeaning factor of an ultimately demeaning job, Dylan wouldn’t even write a rave review of it. 

Having pretty great coworkers and the world’s most laid-back “boss” are the only redeeming qualities, but thankfully, those qualities are very, very redeeming. 

Dylan’s not sure what he’d do if they weren’t. 

…… 

It takes a lot for something to count as a low point in the life of a Ferris wheel operator, but Dylan’s life manages to scrounge one up anyway, because that’s just how things go for him. 

It starts okay, with Dylan bored out of his mind at work and trying to figure out if he can line up his lunch break with Taylor’s—partly because Taylor usually lets him have a longer break if they’re eating together, but mostly because he just likes hanging out with Taylor—but then his train of thought is interrupted when he hears a familiar laugh in the distance, and, sure, there’s a very large chance he’s mishearing it, but he knows, before he even looks, exactly who it is. 

“Fuck,” he says, loud enough for a woman to glare at him while covering her child’s ears. 

It’s apparently also loud enough that other people notice, too, because the next thing Dylan hears is Mitch Marner’s voice saying, “Stromer?” 

Dylan squeezes his eyes shut, breathes in the gross, popcorn-and-sweat-scented air, and turns around, a fake smile plastered across his face. “Hey, Marns.” 

And of course he’s not alone, because nothing in Dylan’s life has ever gone right, ever. 

“I didn’t know you were working here,” Mitch says.

“Yeah, T hooked me and Brinks up with the gig,” Dylan says. 

“How is it?”

“It pays,” Dylan says, shrugging, and then he holds out a hand to Auston Matthews, who he probably shouldn’t be able to recognize, but Dylan spends an admittedly unhealthy amount of time on Instagram. “I’m Dylan, by the way.” 

“Auston.” He takes Dylan’s hand with the one not currently tangled up in Mitch’s, because Dylan’s life is a series of jokes to which he is the punchline. 

And that’s how Dylan ends up finding out the true meaning of rock bottom, buckling his happily-moved-on ex and his wonderful perfect new boyfriend into the world’s most romantic fucking amusement park ride. 

…… 

“It was awful,” Dylan moans, his head hung over his sandwich. “Do you know what it’s like to strap your ex and his boyfriend into the Ferris wheel you’re operating while wearing the world’s ugliest polo shirt? Do you understand that level of humiliation?” 

“No,” Taylor says. “That’s a pretty specific experience.” 

“Use your imagination,” Dylan says. 

Taylor takes a second where he seems to actually try and visualize it, because he’s a weird and great person. “Yeah, doesn’t sound fun.” 

“It’s not,” Dylan says. “It’s the opposite of fun. It’s the worst thing to ever happen to me, and I want to die.” 

“S’okay, I’ll plan a kickass funeral,” Dylan hears someone say, and he looks up to see Alex walking into the breakroom, which means this day is at least a little bit saved. 

“Twelve-car!” Taylor says, cupping his hand around his mouth and saying it like it’s a chant and not just a dumb nickname that literally only Taylor uses. 

Alex gives him a high five, then sits down in the chair next to Dylan, which means he has to lean across him to talk to Taylor, which is something Dylan does not mind at all. “Why’s Dylan dying?” 

“Fucking Marns,” Dylan says. 

“Ah,” Alex says. “I thought that was a Mitch Marner groan. It’s been a while.” 

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Dylan says. 

“It usually is, with him,” Alex says. “What this time?”

“Apparently he stopped by the Ferris wheel,” Taylor says.

“Matthews in tow,” Dylan adds, because he thinks that’s a pretty important detail. 

“You know,” Alex says, “if it weren’t the middle of the day, and we weren’t on the clock and kinda responsible for people’s lives, I’d say we should go drink your feelings.” 

“Please don’t get drunk,” Taylor says. “If someone dies on a Ferris wheel while I’m supervising, they might actually fire me.” 

“I like how you say ‘might,’” Dylan says, even though he’s honestly not convinced that inebriation leading to death would cause the Funland powers-that-be to fire someone. They might, like, hand out a pamphlet, or something else that says ‘Don’t kill the customers.’ Most places would email, but this place is pretty behind on things, technology-wise. 

“Relax, my job is easy so I like to do it well,” Alex says. “No deaths on my watch.” 

“Attaboy, Binks,” Taylor says, slapping him on the back. 

“Wow, teacher’s pet? This is a side of you I’ve never seen before,” Dylan says. 

Alex sticks his tongue out at him. “Fuck you, I’ve got layers, don’t put me in a box. I can kiss ass when I need to.” 

“Wait, this is ass-kissing?” Taylor says. “My ass is being kissed?” 

“Metaphorically,” Dylan says. “Or, literally, I don’t know what you guys—” 

“Are you really going to make that joke in front of our  _ boss?”  _ Alex says, gesturing towards Taylor dramatically. 

“He’s not our boss when it’s lunch,” Dylan says. “Just one of the guys.” 

“Speaking of being off the clock, I think Alex was onto something with the whole ‘drowning your sorrows in alcohol’ idea,” Taylor says. 

Dylan perks up. “Yeah?” 

“Isn’t Cloudsy having a party tonight?” Taylor says. 

“Is he?” Dylan tends to keep his group texts with Mikey McLeod muted, because Mikey’s a double, triple, and quadruple texter, and Dylan figures it’s best to check in on whatever’s going on in the various intersections of his world and Mikey’s all at once. Sometimes he calls it ‘Mikey hour’ in his head. 

“That’s what I heard,” Alex says. “Wanna roll through?” 

“I’m in if you are,” Taylor says, and then both of them turn to Dylan. 

“Let’s do it, boys,” Dylan says, and they execute some pretty perfect triple high-fives. 

Dylan’s starting to feel better already. 

…… 

One of the best things about the summer is that Mikey’s parents are always out of town, so there’s a party at the McLeod house every other weekend. Mikey throws a good party, and Dylan knows this for a fact, because he taught Mikey everything he knows, including his ultimate secret, which is really just to provide snacks  _ and  _ alcohol. It’s a simple technique, but an effective one, and Mikey employs it regularly. It always makes Dylan feel a little proud, probably more than is strictly warranted, but, whatever. 

The point is: Mikey’s throwing down, and Dylan and Alex and Taylor are showing up. 

The party’s in full blast when Dylan and Alex arrive, no Taylor in tow, because Alex had just come over to Dylan’s after work. Taylor’s around here somewhere, and it’s just a matter of locating him, and then they can really kick off tonight. At some point over the course of the summer, Alex, Dylan, and Taylor became a trio, and Dylan’s pretty fucking into it, honestly; he’s always been the kind of guy to have one best friend, but it’s really great having two who are also best friends with each other. They’ve all got each other’s backs, and they all have a nice one-on-one thing going, but it feels balanced, having the both of them around, like their friendship is something solid to gravitate towards, not a fragile thing that could break if they start pulling in opposite directions. There are no real opposite directions on a triangle, and all the points on a triangle are next to both of the other points, unlike on a square or a five-sided shape that Dylan can’t remember the name of, or whatever. 

This was something Dylan came up with in June when he was stoned off his ass, but he’s pretty sure it makes sense geometrically, so he stands by it. 

“Watcha thinkin’ bout?” Alex says, laughing. 

“Nothing,” Dylan says. “Just triangles.” 

“Like, you and me and T? That kind of triangle?” 

“Precisely,” Dylan says, and he’s pretty sure that he’s never actually explained his triangle theory to Alex, but he’s not all that surprised that Alex just kind of gets it. Alex is pretty good with all things Dylan, honestly.

Dylan doesn’t worry when he can’t find Taylor right away. It’s a crowded party, and Dylan and Alex get swept up in conversations with various acquaintances. There’s a crowd of people who tend to show up to parties at Mikey’s, and it’s the usual crew here tonight, but it’s been a while since Dylan saw many of them. 

The weird thing is that he can’t find Mikey, though, and it’s even weirder when he sees Nathan Bastian sitting in a circle playing some drinking game and Mikey’s not halfway in his lap. Dylan’s pretty sure this is the first time he’s ever seen Nate without Mikey glued to his side, staring up at him like he’s the reason flowers smell nice and sunsets are pretty. 

“Hey,” Dylan says, nudging Alex. “T’s here, right?” 

“Yeah, Darren said he was looking for us, like, an hour ago, remember?” 

“Jesus, we’ve been here an hour?” Dylan says. “We should look for him.” 

It’s not that Dylan’s worried, per se, but it’s just— it’s weird. It’s weird being in the same house as Taylor and not speaking to him for an hour, and it’s weird being in Mikey’s house and not seeing him, either, and it somehow doesn’t really occur to Dylan that those two things are related until he opens the door to Mikey’s bedroom and sees both of them. 

They’re clothed, and sitting across from each other on the bed. They look concerned, engrossed in whatever they’d been talking about, but Dylan feels distinctly like he’s interrupting, which is not something he usually feels around Taylor, or around Mikey, to be honest. There’s not much about either of them that he doesn’t already know, but apparently there is, because whatever’s going on in here is clearly not something Dylan is meant to be seeing. 

The thing is, Taylor and Mikey are  _ friends.  _ Dylan knows this, and knows they’re close, but there’s a difference between being bros and finding a secluded space in the middle of a crowded party to have what looks like a serious conversation. 

“Thought I taped off the staircase,” Mikey says, looking alarmed and vaguely caught. 

He had, but Mikey’s practically Dylan’s brother, and Alex is Dylan’s best friend, so Dylan’s usually an exception to the ‘No party guests allowed upstairs’ rule. 

“Sorry,” Dylan says. “Thought it was weird for the host to disappear in the middle of the party. You good?” 

“Yeah,” Mikey says. 

“I was gonna come down and look for you guys in a bit,” Taylor says. 

“That’s cool,” Alex says. “We just— we didn’t know where you were.” 

“I’m here,” Taylor says, and the awkward tension in the room is so thick that Dylan’s fight or flight reaction kicks in. 

“Well,” Dylan says. “Uh, when you’re done, come find us?” 

“For sure,” Taylor says, and Dylan gives a quick, jerky wave before dragging a vaguely dazed-looking Alex out of the room. 

“That was…” Alex says, frowning as the door shuts behind him. “Weird, right?” 

“Super weird,” Dylan agrees. 

“Should we be worried?” Alex asks. 

Dylan shrugs. “I mean, it’s not like they were—”

“Yeah, no,” Alex says, and then he pauses. “They weren’t, right?” 

“I don’t think so,” Dylan says. 

“This is weird,” Alex repeats, mostly to himself. “We should get back to the party, right?” 

“Yes, good,” Dylan says, snapping and pointing at Alex. “Let’s party it up, and forget about the weird shit.”

“That, I’m on board, with,” Alex says. 

‘Partying it up,’ in this case, apparently means doing Jell-O shots and then getting drunk with Ryan McLeod and Nate Bastian, who are a deceptively good beer pong tandem and also totally merciless. They talk to more people, and faces get blurrier, and Dylan should probably stop soon, but he really doesn’t want to forfeit, so he magnanimously gifts the last few cups he’s supposed to drink to fellow partygoers. 

He’s also pretty sure he hugs each of them, because he’s already pretty wasted, and when Taylor and Mikey don’t emerge by the end of the game, Dylan just turns his mind away from that line of thought.

Truthfully, Dylan’s not really sure why he and Alex end up alone in the McLeod backyard. 

He knows how he gets there, and it’s with Alex on his back, but he’s not sure why he requested a piggyback ride in the first place, or why he’d chosen this as their destination. He suspects it’s some combination of a desire to get away from the crowd and a reluctance to come up with an actual game plan. 

Either way, they end up there, and Alex is still holding a red solo cup, and Dylan knows that half its contents probably spilled on the way out here, but he’s still pretty impressed. 

“’m glad we’re drunk,” Alex says, settling against Dylan’s side, which is pretty ideal. He fits nicely there, Dylan thinks. 

“You’re such a little lightweight,” Dylan says, ruffling his hair.

“I may be little, but I am not a lightweight,” Alex says.

“You are little,” Dylan says, feeling suddenly very content. “You’re really cute, too.”

“You’re really cute,” Alex shoots back, and it’s easy for a second, until it’s not, and Alex is looking at him, really  _ looking,  _ and Dylan—

Alex is really cute, is the thing, and Dylan is really drunk, and he likes him an awful lot. 

He’s not sure which one of them leans in first. He’s pretty sure it’s him, but Alex doesn’t seem particularly surprised by it, and it doesn’t take him long to catch on and meet him halfway, catching Dylan’s lips in his. He’s got a hand on Dylan’s face already, pulling him closer, and before Dylan knows what he’s doing, he’s got both his hands on Alex’s waist and they’re pressed together, flush and close and slotting together perfectly. 

It’s weird, because for all Dylan is hyperfocused on the fact that this is Alex, it’s almost like he’s in another world where Alex is someone different, someone Dylan is meant to be kissing. It almost makes  _ too  _ much sense, the way Alex snakes his hands around Dylan’s neck and pulls him closer confidently, and Dylan is pretty sure that he shouldn’t. He knows Alex so well, but he’s never known this part of Alex, and a part of him thinks it should be weirder, but— 

It’s weird, but it’s not weird enough. It’s weirdness underscored by perfection, like this was the natural next step that Dylan didn’t see coming. 

“Dyl—” Alex says, voice low against Dylan’s lips, and Dylan’s about to say something back, except then he hears distant yelling, and remembers that there’s a world outside this kiss. 

Maybe leaping back like he’s been physically burned isn’t the smoothest move in the world, but it’s the choice Dylan makes anyway, and he’s pretty sure it’s at least somewhat justifiable. 

“Did you hear that?” he says, ignoring the hurt on Alex’s face. 

“Hear what?”

Dylan puts a finger to his lips—the same ones that are still tingling with the feeling of kissing his best friend—and listens. 

“Stromer, Brinksy,” the same voice calls again, and this time, it’s unmistakably Taylor’s voice fast approaching, and Dylan’s stomach drops. 

“Oh, shit,” Alex says, his eyes going wide. “How do I look?”

Dylan examines Alex’s face, trying to find signs of the fact that they’d just been kissing in it, and he can’t see anything obvious, except for the way his lips are red and a little swollen, and also wet, before Alex wipes at them with the back of his hand hastily. 

Dylan really shouldn’t miss the way they look, but he also really shouldn’t be doing a lot of things tonight that he’s very much doing. 

There are also things that he should be doing, like trying to wrap his head around everything right now, but he’s got a feeling that he’s not gonna be doing that any time soon. 

“You look fine,” Dylan says, nervously looking over his shoulder. “Me?” 

“You’re good,” Alex says, barely casting a glance Dylan’s way, but before Dylan even has time to worry about it, Taylor is close enough to see, and Dylan has no choice but to wave him over. 

“Hey,” Taylor says, jogging over to them, a little out of breath. “When the fuck did you two get here?” 

“A while ago,” Dylan says, going for casual, but it comes out cold and kind of awkward, and Taylor’s face falls, which is maybe the last thing Dylan would ever want to see. 

“We were looking for you,” Alex adds. “But then we found the Jell-o shots.” 

Taylor’s face lights up at that, and Dylan feels relieved, and when he looks over at Alex, he’s— smiling, really fucking wide, in a way that makes Dylan’s chest ache and his breath come in short. His lips are still red from kissing Dylan, but he’s grinning up at Taylor like he’s hung the moon, and as a few things click into place, Dylan thinks that he’s probably the worst person in the world. 

Alex and Taylor. Of course.

The realization hits him pretty hard, but the alcohol’s got him numb, so he can pretend it’s not like staring into the sun to watch the two of them look at each other, full of laughter, and pretend that the guilt doesn’t feel like a knife twisting in his stomach when he remembers the way Alex’s lips had felt against his.

…… 

The next day, Alex has off work, which is probably good, considering Dylan’s not sure if he’s ever gonna be able to look him in the eye again. 

He feels like crap, and pretends it’s because he’s hungover. He probably should be, actually, because he had a fuckton to drink last night, but the dull headache that makes the already too-bright amusement park sunshine feel even worse than usual probably ranks pretty low on the list of terrible things he’s feeling right now, all things considered. 

“What’s with you?” Taylor says, and Dylan startles, because he hadn’t even known Taylor was standing there. 

“Jesus,” Dylan says, catching his breath. “What the fuck, T?” 

“See, like that,” Taylor says. “You’re all jumpy. It’s weird.” 

“I’m not jumpy,” Dylan says. 

Taylor just raises an eyebrow. 

“Fine, I’m not jumpy around customers,” Dylan says. “I didn’t realize you were doing rounds.” 

“I’m not,” Taylor says, leaning his arms on the thin, wobbly gate, which gives a little, but manages to stay standing. “Just figured I’d keep you company, since Binks isn’t here.” 

Dylan momentarily freezes at the mention of Alex, but when he looks for an accusation in Taylor’s face, he can’t find one. 

“I appreciate it,” he says. “I can survive a few days without him, though.”

“I doubt it,” Taylor says cheerfully.

“Why are you so chipper today?” Dylan says. “Weren’t you at that party last night too?” 

“Sure, but my awful friends neglected to tell me about the Jell-O shots, so karma decided to not give me a hangover,” Taylor says. 

Dylan just grunts and goes back to glaring at the Ferris wheel controls, pretending that the worst thing he and Alex did last night was not tell Taylor there were Jell-O shots. Taylor doesn’t leave, though, just stays at Dylan’s side, quietly rifling through the papers he keeps on his clipboard. Dylan’s pretty sure he’s filling out reports. 

“You using this as your office?” Dylan asks, after a few minutes. 

Taylor shrugs, and doesn’t put on the usual air of forced cheerfulness that Dylan associates with Taylor-on-the-job. It makes Dylan feel like crap to see Taylor not smiling, but he does appreciate the honesty. 

“If you don’t mind,” Taylor says. “I dunno, you seem like you could use the company.” 

“I could,” Dylan says, before he can stop himself, and Taylor startles as a blush starts to creep up Dylan’s face. 

Their smiles form in unison, a lopsided grin slowly spreading across Dylan’s face as Taylor’s turns pink and pleased. 

“Hope your hangover gets better soon,” Taylor says, and Dylan’s pretty sure he knows that Dylan’s problems go beyond a hangover, but for right now, Dylan is happy to pretend that he’ll stop feeling like shit with enough water and patience. 

No matter how bad he feels about getting in the way of Alex and Taylor’s thing, whatever it is, it’s hard to feel all that bad when Taylor’s smiling at him. It’s the kind of smile that makes people feel safe around Taylor, makes them trust him, makes them feel centered and grounded and like everything’s gonna be okay. It’s that smile that makes him a good supervisor, maybe, and a good friend, definitely. 

Dylan’s as big a glutton for punishment as they come, but Taylor’s smile feels like a drought that’s drying up his wells of self-pity to wallow in, and Dylan lets the positivity wash over him, if only for a moment. 

…… 

Alex is back at work the next day, and after about five minutes of awkwardly ignoring each other, Dylan officially can’t handle anymore, so he bites the bullet and walks over, hoping Taylor doesn’t notice anything’s off.

“So, about—” Dylan starts, but Alex cuts him off quickly.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he says, and Dylan’s stomach relaxes and twists up again in a new kind of nervousness in a very short period of time. 

“You have?” 

Alex bites his lip. “We don’t— I don’t think it has to be a big deal, right?” 

Dylan stares blankly at him, not sure what to say to that, because he’s pretty sure Alex is wrong. He’s pretty sure that, no matter what they say, kissing Alex is going to be kind of a big deal.

He’s also pretty sure that he can’t tell Alex that, because that’s probably Dylan’s problem, not his. 

“Alright,” Dylan finds himself saying, even though it feels like a lie. 

So Dylan takes his lunch break with Alex and Taylor, doesn’t visit Alex as often as he usually does, and, for the most part, does a passable job of convincing the world at large that everything is normal. 

He doesn’t quite convince himself, but that doesn’t matter, not with the way Alex and Taylor are looking at each other, eyes shiny and bright and beautiful, and just— 

Yeah, whatever Dylan is feeling doesn’t matter, can’t matter in the face of whatever’s going on between those two. 

…… 

Dylan sometimes forgets that he actually likes amusement parks, because he hates working at an amusement park, so when Taylor asks him if he wants to go there on their day off, Dylan mostly says yes because he can’t say no to him.

Remembering that he actually enjoys rollercoasters and shit is kind of a relief, because the idea of doing anything Taylor wants if he smiles at him the right way makes him feel kind of nauseous, even if he pretends because of the Brinksy thing. 

And it’s weird, because it had been Brinksy who said that they shouldn’t talk about it, but for the last few days, there’s been this weird tension that is starting to feel less and less one-sided. He keeps giving Dylan these looks, like he’s not sure how to make things easy between them again, and Dylan wishes he could help, but there are a lot of feelings floating around in his head these days, and regret isn’t enough of them. 

It’s a fine day, because Funland really is more fun when you know how to avoid lines and also certain coworkers who make your stomach go all topsy-turvy, and they end up convincing Maksi that there’s a 50% employee discount on food. They go to town on everything fried and sugary and gross, and Dylan sort of gets why they have customers. 

Then, out of the blue, Taylor says, “So, you and Brinksy?” 

Dylan chokes on his funnel cake. 

It’s pretty gross, powdered sugar flying everywhere, but Dylan just figures it’s one more link in the chain of embarrassing events he calls life and downs it with Taylor’s Coke. 

“You good?” Taylor says. 

“I think so,” Dylan says, a little hoarse. “Fuck you, you can’t just say shit like that while I’ve got food in my mouth.” 

“Technically, I bought you that funnel cake,” Taylor says. “It’s mine to make you choke on.” 

“Kinky,” Dylan says flatly.

“Do you think anyone’s ever choked to death on funnel cake here?” 

“At this amusement park?” Dylan says. “Probably not. I don’t think they’d still sell them if that happened.” 

“Damn,” Taylor says. “That would be a cool story.” 

“I guess,” Dylan says. 

“Oh, well,” Taylor says. “We can always look to the future. Anyway, you and Alex.” 

“What about us?” 

Taylor shrugs. “I mean, you’re close.” 

“Observant,” Dylan says, and he turns away, because it’s suddenly hard to look Taylor straight-on. It’s always like looking into the sun, but right now it’s like looking into the sun in a bad way. 

Not that there’s a good way to look right at the sun, but, whatever, Dylan’s a Ferris wheel operator, not an eye doctor.

“But you guys have both been weird lately,” Taylor says. “Is there— what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Dylan says. “It’s not a big deal.” 

“I’m not asking in, like, a supervisor way,” Taylor says. “I’m asking as your— as your friend.”

There’s something about the way he hesitates that puts a crease in Dylan’s forehead, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to say it. “T,” he says. “Alex is my best friend, and you’re my best friend, and you and Alex are best friends, right?” 

“Right,” Taylor says, and Dylan can see the way his shoulders relax. He really, truly hates the idea that Taylor’s had any doubts about him being less close with either of them than they are with each other, because it’s never for a second crossed Dylan’s mind that he and Alex are some kind of twosome who invite Taylor along for the ride. He knows what it’s like to feel that way, and it fucking sucks. 

“The three of us— we have a really great thing going, right?” Dylan says. “So it’s just—” he gulps. “Something… something happened, I guess, and I don’t want that to throw off the balance of things.” 

“Oh,” Taylor says, the color draining from his face. “Oh.” 

“It’s not like— if I didn’t think it was the kind of thing that would stop being weird in a few days, I’d just tell you, but I didn’t because it’s not a permanent thing. Nothing’s, like, different, or anything, just—”

“Temporarily out of order?” Taylor suggests. 

“Exactly,” Dylan says. “Actually temporarily, not the same way Whack-a-Mole’s been out of order since the beginning of time.” 

“Okay,” Taylor says. “I was just checking.” 

Dylan’s not satisfied with that. “Like, I promise, nothing’s different with me and Alex. We’ll be back to normal soon.” 

“It’s okay if it is, you know,” Taylor says. “You don’t have to tell me everything that goes on with you two.” 

And that’s true, is the thing, but the stuff with Alex doesn’t  _ not  _ involve Taylor either, and he doesn’t know how to tell Taylor that without being vague and causing even more unnecessary worry, because Dylan really does have two best friends who are equally best, and if something really did happen with him and Alex that would change that, it would be a big deal for all three of them. 

“I just don’t like keeping things from you, I guess,” Dylan says. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you things were weird.” 

“You don’t have to apologize,” Taylor says. 

“Well, too bad, because I’m apologizing,” Dylan says, and he gives Taylor a half-smile, suddenly desperate to see Taylor relax, to fall forward onto his elbows and pick at Dylan’s food and grin like everything’s normal. 

And that doesn’t quite happen, but at least some of the tension leaves Taylor’s shoulders. “Guess I gotta accept it, then,” he says, and Dylan lightly kicks him under the table, hoping it comes across as reassurance. 

He ignores the urge he has to reach out and squeeze Taylor’s hand, because whatever that is— 

Dylan’s not really sure, but he knows he’s not gonna mess with things when they already feel so fragile, so he just makes a face when Taylor blows powdered sugar onto him and tries not to think about how his heart beats faster every time Taylor’s fingers threaten to brush his. 

…… 

Dylan knows that avoiding Mikey isn’t the right way to go about things, but he’s never been great with not making terrible choices, so he’s had Mikey on read for about a week by the time he decides to cave and just text him back, partially because Matty and his mom are being annoying about it, but mostly because, when he’s not kissing his best friend and crushing on his other best friend despite the fact that the friend he’d kissed is also crushing on the crush-friend, he likes to think that he’s actually a pretty decent friend. 

“Hey,” Dylan says, showing up at Mikey’s bedroom door, because he knows how Mikey operates. If he makes a grandish gesture, he can get away with not apologizing. “I have to ask you something.”

Mikey looks up from his bed, takes Dylan in, and Dylan can see the exact moment where Mikey forgives him for ignoring him. “What’s up?” 

“When you and Taylor— at the party,” Dylan says. “What was that about?” 

Mikey turns a deep shade of pink. “Oh, it was— nothing.” 

“Mikey,” Dylan says. “It’s okay if it was— I just wanted to know if you and him were a thing, so—”

“No,” Mikey says quickly. “No, nothing like that, just— I have a dumb crush that’s dumb, and I needed to get away from the party for a bit.” 

“Oh,” Dylan says. “So it wasn’t like—” 

“It was about Nate,” Mikey says quickly, and he goes from pink to red, even though Dylan had figured Bastian was involved, because he usually is, when it comes to Mikey.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Not really, no,” Mikey says. “Do you wanna talk about why you came over here to ask me about Raddy?” 

“Not really, no,” Dylan says. 

“Good talk,” Mikey says. “I’m, uh, sorry I hogged him for so long.” 

“It’s okay, I get him every workday,” Dylan says. 

There’s a beat where neither of them says anything, until Mikey finally breaks the silence with, “Wanna play video games and not talk about our feelings?” 

“I would like nothing more,” Dylan says, already feeling something loosen in his chest as Mikey turns on the Xbox.

…… 

There are moments over the course of the summer that just feel so much like summer that Dylan has to close his eyes and capture the smell of the season, hoping the memory stays with him for the next year. It’s warm breezes at night and sandals rubbing at the back of his feet and other things like that, and Dylan’s never disappointed by them when it’s summer again and he has to match the memory up to reality. 

In this case, the thing he’s been clutching close to his chest is the smell of a bonfire, mixed in with the sensation of sand between his toes and the sound of laughter and bits of burnt marshmallow caught in his teeth. Even with the hole he’s dug himself into, and the sickening feeling that he’s about to ruin the best friendships he’s ever had in his life, he can’t be stressed on a night like tonight, not when everyone he loves is in the same place and Mikey has yet again managed to fuck up his shoe situation so that he’s wearing mismatched flip-flops. 

It’s nice, and easy, and familiar, and Alex is finally acting like everything’s back to normal, so Dylan lets himself relax into it for this one night, tells himself that if this is the last time he’ll ever feel this loved this easily, he should cling to it for as long as he can. 

He’s also, like, pretty stoned, and that might be contributing to the overwhelming sense of love and contentedness, but that doesn’t make it any less real. 

“Alex,” he says, drawing out the name, and Alex looks at him and laughs. 

“Oh my god, you had, like, two hits.” 

“Had more than that,” Dylan grumbles. “And I’m not that high.” 

“You’re blitzed out of your mind,” Alex chuckles. 

“Am not.” 

Alex twists, and Dylan watches the curve of his neck as he does. His hair is getting a little long in the back; Dylan would very much like to cut it, or play with it, or something. 

“Taylor,” Alex calls, then turns back to Dylan and grins brilliantly. 

Dylan just feels kind of like a happy dopey blob of a person. “C’mere.” 

He’s mostly just trying to get Alex closer for hair-related reasons, but when it ends with a giggling Alex in his lap, Dylan doesn’t complain, and he doubly doesn’t complain when Taylor walks over and smiles at the two of them. 

“If you called me over here to ask me if Stromer’s baked, the answer is yes,” Taylor says. 

“I hate you,” Dylan says, not meaning it at all. “You’re my two favorite people in the world, and I hate you both, so, so much.” 

“Aw,” Alex says, then boops Dylan’s nose before turning to Taylor and saying, “T, come join us.” 

“I don’t think I’ll fit in Dylan’s lap,” Taylor says. 

“Not with that attitude,” Dylan says, then spreads his legs apart, shifting Alex so that he’s only sitting on one thigh. He pats the other. “I have two legs, and I can’t think of a better way to use them.”

“Loser,” Taylor scoffs, fond, but he sits down anyway. 

“Someone once told me I had a bony butt,” Dylan says. “But I think that’s just a thing people say when you sit in their laps.” 

“Is this your way of telling us our butts are bony?” Alex says. 

“No,” Dylan says. “Just making conversation.” 

“And my ass is your conversation topic of choice?” Taylor says, waggling his eyebrows. 

Before Dylan can say something in response to that and invariably humiliate himself, Alex says. “This is about my ass too.” 

“Both of you have great asses,” Dylan says. “And I’ve got a great lap to sit on.” 

“Match made in heaven,” Taylor says. 

“Yeah,” Dylan says. “Man, I should be a mall Santa.” 

“Dream big,” Alex says. 

“Actually, most Ferris wheel operators go on to be mall Santas,” Taylor says. “That’s, like, the career path you’ve set yourself up for.” 

“Does that mean I’ve already got a leg up on the competition?” Dylan says, perking up.

“But don’t you have to grow a beard to play Santa?” Alex says. “No offense, Dyl.” 

“I can grow a beard,” Dylan protests, and Taylor and Alex exchange a look. “What?” he demands. “I can. You’ve seen it.”

“You can grow facial hair,” Alex says slowly. “In the sense that— like, there will be hair, on your face, if you don’t shave.” 

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a beard,” Taylor says. “That’s just kind of disrespectful to beards.” 

“Wow, hey,” Dylan says, impressed and offended in equal measure. “Why are you so mean to me? I thought we were friends.” 

“Sometimes friends give you the ugly truth,” Alex says. 

“It’s okay, it doesn’t mean we love you any less,” Taylor says, and then he leans in and gives Dylan a kiss on the forehead. “Just… keep shaving, for everyone’s sake.” 

“And while we’re at it, don’t bleach your hair again—” 

“That was for unity,” Dylan says. “You guys both did it too, you know.” 

“Yeah, but we both regret it,” Alex points out.

“Speak for yourself,” Taylor says. “I rocked the frosted tips.” 

“That’s just because you look good no matter what,” Dylan says. 

“Stop,” Taylor says, trying to shrug it off, and Dylan does not like that one bit. 

Alex seems to be on the same page, because he says, “It’s true, T. You’re the hot one in this friendship.” 

“That’s not— you can’t just say it like it’s an uncontroversial opinion,” Taylor says. “Dylan, get offended.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Dylan says. “I agree with Alex.” 

“This is so dumb. What makes me hotter than either of you?” 

“I mean, Alex is a close second, but he’s also the cute one, and he can’t be the cute one and the hot one, so tie goes to the taller person,” Dylan says. 

“Stromer’s, like, hot, but he’s not as obviously hot, y’know? Like, he can make himself ugly if he tries. You’ve seen the beard.” 

“Have you guys just been harboring secret resentment for my beard that’s just coming out now?” Dylan says, ignoring the way he feels a little like he’s on fire because Alex called him hot. 

In lieu of answering, Taylor just scratches under his chin. 

People have been peeling away from the party slowly, but Dylan is comfortable, even if his foot is kind of falling asleep and Taylor and Alex are heavy. He doesn’t want them to move, though, happy that things finally feel normal between the three of them for the first time in days. 

“I missed this,” he mumbles, without really thinking about it, because he’s suddenly almost sleepy. 

“Yeah,” Taylor says. “I’m glad it passed.” 

“Glad what passed?” Alex asks, as Taylor nuzzles his head into Dylan’s shoulder. 

“Whatever happened,” Taylor says, gesturing between Alex and Dylan. “That had you guys acting weird and stressed for the last few days.” 

Alex looks at Dylan, and they lock eyes before Dylan can look away, and suddenly, the air is filled with tension again, awkward shame and lingering embarrassment washing over him and turning his cheeks red. 

“I’m glad it’s passed, too,” Alex says, and Dylan nods, not looking away, but he runs a hand through Taylor’s hair for good measure. 

It feels empty now, like they’re the only three people on the beach; Stephens is probably still around somewhere, but he’s nowhere near the fire, and the only sound Dylan can hear is the water from the lake lapping onto the shore, sounding like an ocean. 

“You guys don’t have to tell me, you know,” Taylor says. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Dylan says. “It’s just— something happened.” 

“We agreed to not make it into a big deal,” Alex adds. 

Taylor looks between them, a small, thin-lipped frown on his face. “If you want to make it a big deal, don’t— like, because of me—” 

“But it’s—” Alex runs a hand through his hair. “It’s whatever, we just—” 

“We kissed,” Dylan says, and the night turns quiet as Dylan stares at his feet, running identical small circles into both their hips with his thumbs. “That’s all.” 

The silence stretches out painfully, and Dylan feels their tension like it’s his own, Alex’s baited breath and whatever response Taylor’s forming under the surface of his skin. 

“Was it good?” Taylor’s voice is small, the question barely there, but Dylan’s face burns as he nods slowly. He knows Alex is looking at him, wishes he wasn’t, and somehow the fact that he knows Alex thinks the same thing doesn’t make him feel any better about it. 

“It wasn’t—” Alex starts, but Taylor cuts him off.

“It’s okay, I sort of figured it was something like that,” Taylor says. “And if you want to— that’s okay.” 

“What’s okay?” Alex asks, and Dylan would speak, but he can’t, all of a sudden. 

“If you guys wanted to—” Taylor gulps. “It wouldn’t ruin things with the three of us, if you two— I could be a great third wheel, if that’s okay with you.” 

“It’s not that simple,” Alex is saying. 

“But it’s— like, you’re my two favorite people, and I want you to be happy, so if you’re staying apart for my benefit—” 

“It’s not that simple,” Dylan says, echoing Alex’s words, and he looks up at Taylor, who looks frantic and bewildered and the opposite of what Taylor should look like, and Dylan is suddenly— 

He tells himself he’s drunk and high and tired and it’s late and the summer, and that’s why he pulls Taylor in for a kiss. 

He doesn’t let go of Alex before he does it, and Alex doesn’t let go of him, puts his hand over where Dylan’s digging his fingers into his thigh. His other is tangled in Taylor’s hair, long and a little grown-out, because he probably hasn’t gotten a haircut since the beginning of the summer. Dylan would have noticed if he had, probably, and that’s probably something he should think about, but for the time being, all he can think about is Taylor’s lips, soft against his and kissing back and the feeling of Alex running an encouraging finger over his knuckles, and it’s all so much that Dylan can’t do anything but bask in it for a few minutes. 

There’s too much, and he can’t even breathe, but at the same it feels so good and so right, and his head is a whirlwind of feelings he’s been ignoring and decisions he hasn’t been making because he never thought— 

It’s never seemed like something he could hope for, a moment like this one, but he’s living this. It feels like a dream. 

“Was that—” Taylor gulps, as Dylan finally pulls away after a few seconds that feel like forever. 

“To even the score,” Dylan says, and he feels his mouth quirk up into a small, nervous smile. 

Taylor turns to Alex, then clears his throat. “Does that mean we should—” 

Alex is nodding before Taylor can finish getting the words out, and Dylan is captivated as he watches them kiss, nervous and slow at first before falling into place, and they’re both still sitting in his goddamn lap. 

It should feel like he’s on the outside looking in, but it doesn’t, because they’re both clutching at him, holding onto him like they’re trying to remind him that he’s a part of this, and maybe he’d feel weird about it if he didn’t want it to be like that, and when Alex and Taylor break apart, the whole thing turns into a blur, Alex kissing Dylan while Taylor breathes into his neck and he holds them both like he’s never gonna let them go— 

But then he remembers that he’s going to have to, eventually, and so he pulls away and says, “Shit, I should—” 

“Dyl?” Taylor says. 

“It’s— curfew,” Dylan says. “Get up, get up, I’m gonna miss curfew—” 

They both crawl off his lap quickly, probably avoiding looking at him as much as he’s looking at them, and Dylan suddenly desperately wishes he were sober, because his heart is beating so goddamn fast, and he’s not sure what it means that his chest is aching with the feeling of  _ want  _ and  _ summer  _ and  _ love  _ and  _ Taylor-and-Alex.  _

He used to know what he could ask for, but now the rules seem to have changed and he has no idea what the boundaries are any more or how to divvy up the love he’s overflowing with, so he just runs away, sandals in hand until he hits pavement, ignoring the few scattered partygoers and not bothering with goodbyes.

…… 

Dylan’s got a day off the next day, and he doesn’t talk to either Alex or Taylor. 

He also doesn’t talk to any of his coworkers, or to Connor, or Mikey, or any McLeods, or either of his brothers. He barely even talks to his mom more than he has to, and he knows she’s a little worried, but it’s not like he’s sulking, just— he wants some time to himself.

It’s not often that Dylan needs to be alone like this, but when he does, it’s something he earns, and right now it feels like everything in his life is crashing down around him and he can’t even figure out why. There’s no reason things should feel scary or sad or like the world is ending, but every time he thinks about how fun last night was, it only makes him feel worse. 

Maybe a part of that is because Dylan knows he’ll never have it like that again, never for real, never more than in flashes. Beer and beaches and summer and making out with his best friends because he can forget there’s anything out there saying he can’t.  

That’s the thought he’s trying to avoid, though, so he spends most of his day in bed with his headphones in, and tries not to think about much of anything. 

…… 

Taylor texts him to come into work early tomorrow, and deep down, Dylan knows it’s not for work-related reasons, but the only reason he makes himself show up while the rest of the world is dead asleep is because Taylor is technically his boss, so he can tell himself this is a responsible, work-related choice to make, and not a reckless thing he’s only doing because he’s head-over-heels for the two people he loves more than anything in the world and can’t get his head on straight. 

Alex and Taylor are sitting there when he arrives, engrossed in each other; Taylor looks encouraging, and Alex looks fiercely determined. They probably already started this conversation yesterday, Dylan realizes.

“Hey,” Dylan says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “What’s up?” 

“Dylan—” Taylor starts, but Dylan cuts him off. 

“Look, I’m sorry I want off the grid yesterday,” Dylan says. “I just— y’know.” 

“It’s okay,” Alex says, and then he and Taylor share a glance. “I think we both sort of… we understand.” 

“I personally would’ve loved to hole up and ignore the world,” Taylor offers, and Dylan gives that a small smile, even if he can’t quite meet anyone’s eye right now. 

“Yeah, well,” Dylan says. “I guess— is this… are we talking about it? The other night?” 

“Among other things,” Taylor says. 

“But the other night is a part of it,” Alex adds. “And also what happened at Mikey’s party, and— it’s just— it feels like everything that happens it’s… it’s never just two of us.”

“I know,” Dylan says. “I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” Taylor asks, and he sounds genuine. 

“For— I don’t know, for complicating this,” Dylan says. “For taking our awesome friendship triad and turning it into… I don’t know, some kind of love triangle.”

There’s a second of silence, but then Alex clears his throat. “I don’t think this counts as a love triangle.”

“Doesn’t it?” Dylan says. 

“Well, technically, maybe,” Taylor says. “I don’t know if there’s a technical definition of a love triangle.” 

“But love triangle implies that— that someone doesn’t like someone else, or that someone has to choose, or that someone else’s feelings have to get hurt,” Alex says. “And I know things feel weird right now, but I just feel like it’s more— like, we all want the same people, right?”

“You mean,” Dylan gulps. “Each other?”

“Well, assuming you’re into both of us,” Taylor says, his voice trailing off. 

Dylan nods. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I didn’t— it’s like, I have a type, right, and that type is ‘best friend,’ and it’s just— I didn’t even realize until you two that I could have more than one best friend. It always seemed like a single person, y’know? But then it was all three of us.” 

“I know,” Alex says. “But that’s the thing, all three of us— that was, like, really great.” 

“It  _ is  _ really great,” Taylor says. “And that doesn’t have to change just because we all want to be more than friends, too.” 

“But we can’t just— you can’t date two people at the same time,” Dylan says. “It’s not fair.” 

“You can,” Alex says. “Like, it’s possible. Actually.”  

“But— that’s—” Dylan blinks. “It’s not a thing.” 

“If it’s not a thing, then why does the word throuple exist?” Taylor counters. 

“Is that a word?” 

“Yes,” Alex says. “And it doesn’t matter, we can do what we want, words or not.” 

“If that’s an option, why don’t more people just do that, then?” Dylan asks, trying to wrap his head around it, but it’s hard, because his entire body is buzzing with the beginnings of excitement.

“Feelings are confusing,” Alex says. “And it’s hard to tell if you’re best friends, or if it’s— y’know.” He’s got his arms wrapped around himself, kind of squeezing, and Dylan really, really wants to hug him. 

Taylor, apparently, has the same idea, because he wraps an arm around Alex’s shoulders, and it makes Dylan feel better, like Alex is in good hands. 

And that’s what convinces Dylan that this is something worth considering, really, because there’s Dylan and Taylor, and Dylan and Alex, and Alex and Taylor, but it’s best like this, all three of them, all together. 

“You’re my two favorite people in the world,” Dylan says. “I really don’t know what I’d do if this didn’t work out.”

“Join the club,” Taylor says.

“We’d work something out,” Alex says. “Look, I think this is an option, and I know it’s what I want, and— I’m tired of feeling guilty for liking both of you.” 

Dylan looks at Taylor, sees that struck the same chord with him that it did with Dylan, and then he looks at Alex, who’s fierce and determined, kind of like a kitten that thinks it’s a lion. 

“I like both of you, too,” Dylan says, his face going hot. “You’re— y’know.” 

“Yeah,” Taylor echoes. “I— I guess, I don’t know what it would be like, but— if it’s anything like being best friends, I’m in, right?” 

“It could be whatever we want,” Alex says. “It could be exactly like being best friends, just— y’know. More kissing.” 

“And cuddling?” Dylan suggests. “Three-way spooning sessions?” 

“Would we always do things all three of us? Or would we sometimes pair off?” Taylor asks. 

“I guess that’s up to us, and it depends on what we’re doing, I guess,” Alex says. “But— I want to be your boyfriend, both of you, and I’m happy if you’re boyfriends with each other, so— I don’t know. We can work out the rest of it, right?” 

“Right,” Dylan agrees. “So, we’re— yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Alex says. 

“Yeah,” Taylor says. 

There’s a beat where Dylan’s shaking a little, and he’s overwhelmed and not quite sure what to do with himself, but then Alex smiles, and Taylor smiles, and Dylan pretty much has to follow suit. 

…… 

There’s a lot to be said about the cyclical nature of things, and Dylan thinks a lot about the ups and downs of being a Ferris wheel operator, because he spends a good chunk of his day making a Ferris wheel literally go up and down.

It’s not a glamorous life, really. It’s seasonal work, with a start and a finish, but still, Dylan had a few things he wanted to achieve this summer, and he achieved them: he managed to save up some spare cash, has a line to add to his resume, and he got to spend his days hanging out with his friends and not thinking too much about anything. 

For all his complaining, Dylan leaves Funland with a decent amount of good memories, and a boyfriend on each arm, so, all things considered, he classifies the summer as a success.


End file.
